


Steve, Bucky, and the Donald Trump Experience™

by plaguedbynargles



Series: The Stucky Experience [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hydra (Marvel), Liberal Steve Rogers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, bucky in drag, don't read if you're a trump supporter, not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaguedbynargles/pseuds/plaguedbynargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fourth of July Special! Steve and Bucky are infiltrating a party hosted by a very famous HYDRA agent...in a very unique way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve, Bucky, and the Donald Trump Experience™

**Author's Note:**

> The TM is ironic please it's ironic and i'm very tired please you already have so much money please leave a poor english major alone it was meant to be f u n n y.

               The Avengers were seated in their respective favorite spots, each waiting for someone else to offer up some panacea for the situation they were currently in.    

               “Look,” Tony held up a hand, turning to Bucky, “It’s more important that we get the information we need than for you to get your personal-”

               “I want to go,” Bucky interrupted, “You of all people should understand personal redemption.”

               He said it gently, but Steve still gave Bucky’s real arm a small squeeze that said “ _Easy, Buck.”_

“HYDRA is bound to recognize you, there’s going to be a ton of their agents mixed into the normal crowd at this gala,” Natasha chimed in, “If not on your own, then because you’re with Steve.”

               “Then we’ll go separately,” Bucky suggested, but Steve immediately frowned.

               “I’m not letting you go alone. We know there will be HYDRA agents there. If they recognize you, they’ll try to bring you back to them. You’re too profitable for them to let go.”

               “Then I’ll go in a disguise!”

               Clint looked doubtful, “You can’t exactly just get a haircut and expect HYDRA not to recognize you.”

               “I want to help,” Bucky said firmly, “I owe it to all the people I’ve killed.”

               Silence fell. No one could really argue with that. No one could invalidate Bucky’s need for closure without calling themselves a dirty hypocrite; you could never save everyone, and all of them, consequently, had some blood on their hands.

               “Maybe you don’t have to,” Natasha’s voice had a strange tone to it.

               “I need to-” Bucky started.

               “No, not that you can’t help,” Nat continued, “I mean maybe you don’t have to get a haircut.”

               Steve looked at her, a question mark in his eyes.

               “HYDRA isn’t exactly a progressive organization,” Nat continued, “They probably see men as more of a threat than women. They might recognize Bucky if he was dressed as a male. If, however, he was a different gender…” she trailed off, and the realization of what Nat was suggesting dawned on Steve’s face, making his eyes go wide. Tony, on the other hand, was grinning like a Grinch with a stolen Christmas tree.

               “Seems legit,” Clint commented, leaning back in his arm chair like that settled things, “Get in, get the list of HYDRA agents, get out and no one will be the wiser.”

               Steve was beet red, “ _Absolutely_ no-”

 

               “I’m in.”

               It took Steve a moment to realize that it was Bucky who’d spoken. He turned to his friend, betrayed.

               “Buck, but it’s-”

               Bucky shrugged, “HYDRA won’t spare me a second glance if I look like your date, and besides, Steve, it’s the 21st century. I could never do this back in the 40s.”

               “You make it sound like it’s _fun.._.”

               “Since when is Steve Rogers against fun?” Bucky shot back, “Remember that time you and Thor got drunk on Asgardian wine and had that naked parkour contes-”

               “ALRIGHT!” Steve cut Bucky off before he could recount the details of that night, “Fine. Let’s do it.”

               As everyone got up, their plan of attack finally settled, Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder, suddenly his best friend, “That’s the spirit, Stevie-!”

               “Just don’t get mad when he ends up prettier than you,” Steve grumbled.

               “Thought I already was,” Bucky called over his shoulder. He was already on his way to Nat’s room to plan.

(o0o0o0o0)

               Steve was awoken, on the day of the mission, not by his alarm clock, but by a terrible scream.

               _Bucky._

That scream had appeared in his nightmares countless times, haunted him as he contemplated the terrible things that HYDRA did to his best friend, strapped into a chair like an asylum patient. Steve practically leapt out of bed, half stumbling, half sprinting towards the sound, his vision still blurry from sleep-

               Only to find Natasha standing over Bucky with something hairy in her hand. Steve’s eyes traveled down to Bucky’s bare leg, which had an unusually shiny, rectangular patch about the size of what must not have been a strip of fur, but a…wax strip.

               “Don’t worry,” Nat said smugly, “Once you get used to it, the pain isn’t as bad.”

               Bucky laid back with his hands over his eyes, “It’s a wonder HYDRA never tried _this_ on me,” he raised his metal arm, “Hi Steve.”

               Steve’s mouth was open, but no words would come out.

               “Buck, are you-? Are you _okay?_ ”

               “Not really,” Bucky sat up, reaching for his newly hairless patch of leg, “That really hu—ooh, that _is_ smooth, Nat. Steve, feel my leg.”

               Steve wondered if he might still be in bed dreaming, “Nat, why not just _shave_ -?”

               “Oh don’t worry,” Natasha grinned devilishly, “We’ll shave his face. I just thought he should get the full experience.”

               “The full _experience??”_

Nat applied another strip of wax to Bucky’s calf, patting it down. Steve’s insides were boiling.

               “You gonna just stand there, or help me make your buddy dolphin smooth?”

               Bucky motioned Steve over with an encouraging smile, and Steve, glowering and deflated, trudged over to help Nat. He had to admit that it _did_ leave Bucky’s skin with a satin smooth finish.

(o0o0o0o0)

               Bucky eyed the curling iron with mild skepticism as Nat plugged it in. Not quite so much skepticism, however, as Steve was glaring at the many bottles covering the countertop with.

               “Not really sure how much that can do with my hair…” Bucky mused, as though a curling iron would work less on him because he was male.

               “Oh, it’ll work,” Nat gently worked a brush through Bucky’s hair and spritzed it with a cloud of heat protectant spray, making him sneeze. Steve, who was watching them from the doorway, pinched the bridge of his nose.

               “Buck-”

               “Rogers,” Bucky replied as Nat grabbed a two inch section of hair and began to twist around the iron, “Do you remember when you jumped out of that plane with no parachute?”

               “Yes,” Steve didn’t look up. He knew what was coming.

               “Every fight you picked with someone bigger than you?”

               “Yes, Bucky.”

               “If I took the least reckless thing you ever did, this still wouldn’t even come close to it.”

               “Buck-”

               “And if _this_ ,” he gestured pointedly to his half-curled head, “is what it takes to take HYDRA out, then just call me Ms. Barnes. Now, the important question,” Bucky turned to Nat, “is whether I’m wearing silver or red tonight.”

               Nat slowly turned to Steve, a positively _wicked_ grin spreading across her face.

               “That’s probably,” she said smoothly, “your decision, Barnes. We can’t have you looking too flawless, after all. It’ll attract unwanted attention from the wrong people.”

               Steve flushed and stomped away, unable to believe they were about to degrade Bucky like this.

(o0o0o0o0)

               Steve arrived at Trump tower, where the gala would be held, at precisely 9 o clock pm, surrounded by a daunting mixture of wealthy socialites, the business elite, and celebrities. Which of them were HYDRA agents remained to be seen. All of the Avengers save for Clint had received invitations to the party, but it had long ago been determined that to attract minimal attention, only one should go. It was easier for one person to get lost in a crowd, especially when the largest threat of exposure was the host himself, who, Natasha theorized, probably wouldn’t even know who Steve was if he wasn’t wearing the uniform.

               Straightening his tie, a sweating and anxious Steve stepped over the threshold into the gates of hell.

(o0o0o0o0)

               The dates of each attendant were to enter descending a massive staircase into the ballroom of the Tower (probably in _heels_ , Steve worried). It was lonely in a crowd without Bucky, but so much easier to get through a mission without distraction.  Even though they worked quite well together most of the time, emotions tended to get the best of Steve around Buck. Now, he could focus purely on his job, which was to overhear the conversation between two men in navy suits just to his left.

               _“…have to hire him. He can sway the way they think.”_

_“Avengers…sway public opinion the other way.”_

_“Tell Trump. Hail HYDRA.”_

_“Hail HYDRA.”_

Steve’s eyes went wide. _Trump_ was HYDRA? He hadn’t anticipated that the host himself would be aligned with the terrible organization, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He hoped that wasn’t a trait needed to be invited to his party, or else he’d need to call for backup. Fighting _everyone_ here was implausible, and besides, many of them were public figures. Trump was dumb as a doornail. Maybe he’d been swept up in the agenda and just needed to be scared a little. Steve was so busy trying to configure a game plan for him and Bucky to go after Trump that he hadn’t noticed the dates (mostly female) were making their way down the main staircase to the call of their name overhead.

               _“Ms. Becky Rogers.”_

Heat rushed to Steve’s face at the fact that Buck had taken his last name, but this was not anywhere near to the effect he felt when he _looked_ at his date for the first time.

               Steve nearly fainted.

               Bucky appeared at the top of the steps in a long, form fitting gown of silver. He wore long gloves on each arm and a shawl was draped over his shoulders, effortlessly concealing his silver arm. His hair was curled, and he wore scarlet red lipstick to compliment the rest of the outfit’s silver. His gown covered his feet, but by the ease with which he was gliding lithely down the steps, Steve assumed he wasn’t wearing heels.

               Either that, or Bucky Barnes had sold his soul for the ability to walk in them.

               It took Steve a moment to realize that his jaw was practically on the floor and that he was inappropriately aroused by Bucky in drag.

               Sweet Christ, this was fucked up. Well, no…was it fucked up? Was this _really_ fucked up for the twenty first century? Steve thought there were a great many more things that were fucked up than thinking your best friend looked hot in drag. _Really_ hot. Steve tried not to curse, but the only way to describe his feelings towards Bucky at the moment was that he wanted to be fucked on every expensive surface in Trump Tower by him. Which there were a lot of.

               Maybe he needed to start going to church again. But Steve Rogers was beginning to have a whole new _painful_ understanding of the word “bisexual”.

               When Bucky approached him, it took a moment for Steve to get the lump out of his throat.

               “You look…you look real good Bu—Beck.”

               Bucky smiled demurely, a knowing twinkle in his eye that said _“I know exactly how fucked up you are right now, Stevie.”_

               Steve leaned in close, half to smell Bucky’s perfume and half to actually disclose what he’d found out.

               “I think Trump’s got the list. Let’s get him.”

(o0o0o0o0)

               Steve sighed, “Buck, are you sure about this?”

               Bucky looked deep into Steve’s eyes underneath thick, voluptuous lashes.

               “Don’t worry bout it. He’s not really my type.”

               Steve doubted that Trump was _really_ anyone’s type—if you wanted wealth, he figured Oprah would be a better choice—but before he could voice this thought, Bucky was moving in for the kill.

               Bucky slinked over to a spot where the crowd was thinner, his hips moving back and forth in a way that made Steve feel like he needed a cold shower, and he settled against an open spot of wall, gazing seductively at Trump.

               Steve was starting to sweat. He grabbed a shotglass off a tray that a waiter was offering and downed it painfully. When he looked back at Bucky, he’d already caught Trump’s eye and was playing with the slit of his dress, revealing a glimpse of leg that swayed Steve on his feet. When the Hell had Bucky’s _thighs_ gotten that thick?

               Thinking of a blond toupee in between them made Steve fantasize about murder for the first time in his life.

               Fuck. He wanted to fuck Bucky. _Maybe_ in that dress. But for now, that plan would have to wait, because Trump was excusing himself from his previous conversation, and Bucky was reeling him in with those bedroom eyes like a pro.

               Just before the two of them disappeared around the corner, the look in Bucky’s eyes changed from “I’m gonna fuck Trump” to “Rogers, if you don’t come save me from him, you’re never gonna get to see just how smooth my thighs feel on your face.”

               Steve wasn’t willing to wait and see if that was an exact translation.

(o0o0o0o0)

               “You know, someone pretty stupid,” Steve heard Trump coo, “once told me I have small hands. And you know what they say about guys with small hands.”

               There was a short pause which Steve assumed was Bucky raising his eyebrows or giving some other silent cue to continue. It wasn’t like he could open his mouth and actually _speak_.

               He wished Trump would be a little quieter. Any more noise and the bastard would start to draw a crowd. If anything, for the gossip.

               “That they got small junk!” Trump continued, practically shouting, “He was lying, of course. Sweetheart, you’re lucky you’re pretty, because clearly you got nothin upstairs.” There was a quiet tapping that Steve hoped, for Trump’s sake, was not his finger on Bucky’s forehead. He wouldn’t tolerate that kind of treatment towards any lady, but Bucky being subjected to it truly made his blood boil.

               Well, no sense waiting, was there?

               “Excuse me,” Steve stepped out to find Bucky visibly cringing away from Trump, “I believe that’s my date.”

               Trump raised his eyebrows absurdly, “Yours? Stupid, she’s _mine_ , and you can tell by the leg she showed-”

               “Showin a little skin doesn’t mean she wanted you,” Steve said, “And you know what, Trump? I think the reason you’re so keen on calling everyone else stupid is because deep down, you know it’s all that you are. You’re just like every other insecure bully in the world.”

               Trump and Bucky gaped at him for a moment before the former spoke.

               “And who the Hell are you? Do you know who I am? I’m Donald Trump, and I’m going to be president of these United States-”

               “I’m Captain America, and I think it’s stupid for someone as hateful and insincere as you to think they could ever be president of a country built on earnestness.”

               “Oh yeah?” Trump laughed, an infuriatingly smug grin on his face, “If you’re Captain America, then _where’s your uniform?_ ”

               “Check and mate,” Bucky couldn’t seem to help himself, and Trump whirled on him, gaping.

               “You-!”

               Bucky cut him off before he could start a gender-fueled rant by pulling off his gloves and revealing his metal arm.

               “You’re--!” Trump pointed, stumbling away as though faced with witchcraft, “You’re a terrorist! Security! Security, James Barnes the Soviet terrorist is here to kill me!” Trump’s face was turning a rather alarming shade of red.

               Steve tsked, “Son, you’ve got the wrong idea. You are so focused on building walls to keep things out that you never consider the problems that come from within. Although,” he started to stroll towards a heavily panting Trump, “if you _were_ concerned about an external problem, it’s me, not Barnes, that you should be worried about.”

               “Is that a _threat_?” Trump practically hissed, “Is that a fucking threat? I’ll sue you, you sonofabitch! I’ll run you into the ground so hard that it’ll remind you of how it feels to be fucked by your boyfriend Hitler!”

               “Woah woah woah,” Steve held up his hands, his voice suddenly that level of deadly calm that only comes when someone is about to get truly fucked up, “You’ve got the wrong idea, my friend. See Hitler is not,” he looked very pointedly at Bucky, “my boyfriend. Actually, I never really liked the guy. Reminds me of you in a lotta ways.”

               Trump was practically frothing at the mouth.

               “Sure, there’s the fact that he was a bully, probably hated himself, had serious problems styling his own hair, designed his entire campaign around fearmongering and hatred, promises to make the country great again, and stained an otherwise great country’s reputation for decades to come, but what really makes you remind me of him,” Steve paused thoughtfully, “is that he really, really, makes me want to do _this_.”

               And, before the poor fella could have known what hit him, Trump was taking a square punch to the jaw from Captain America, stumbling backwards from the pure force of it and crashing into a table before falling to the floor.

               He was still yelling at Steve, but it was almost complete gibberish.

               “You know,” Steve mused, hauling Trump to his feet, “Usually I give people a chance to give us the intel we need before I do this...” he looked from Bucky to Trump, “But you’ve been harassing my guy, and it’s been a long week.”

               The next punch was straight in the nose, and Steve had to dodge a spurt of blood as Trump fell, completely passed out.

               Steve stared at the body for a few moments, realizing that, unfortunately, it would eventually be found, and there was no hope for a loudmouth like Trump to keep silent about Captain America punching him _twice._

               “Shit,” he cursed.

               “Don’t worry too much,” Bucky walked over to him with several glasses full of liquor and an empty bottle. He shattered one on the ground, emptied one on Trump’s designer suit (grinning like a fool), and scattered the rest around the room, leaving the bottle in Trump’s hand.

               Steve raised his eyebrows, and Buck shrugged.     

               “If he remembers a thing after a hit like that, people will just think he was too hammered to think straight.”

               Steve nodded thoughtfully, “Wouldn’t hurt to give them an extra reason not to believe him...”

(o0o0o0o0)

               Buck and Steve retrieved the list of HYDRA agents they needed from Trump’s phone without incident (the passcode was 0000), and so decided that to take suspicion off of them, they should go back to the awful party. The two of them spent an hour or so sampling terrible and expensive appetizers and musing about how this much food would have been unimaginable during the Depression, when Bucky changed the subject.

               “Rogers…that stuff, about me bein your guy…”

               Steve went red, “Buck, you don’t need to…I mean, it’s hard to make the transition…if you don’t feel the same way…just cause it’s 2016 now doesn’t mean you’ve gotta say yes.”

               “To what?”

               “Huh?”

               Bucky smirked, and Steve, like always, almost _swooned_.

               “What am I sayin yes to, Stevie? You out of anyone ought to know the fine print on these things is important.”

               Steve sighed, looking away.

               “Will you dance to this terrible music with me?”

               Bucky put his (now gloved again) hand in Steve’s, and let him lead them until they were on the floor. Naturally, Bucky led as soon as dancing was involved.

               “Hey Buck?” Steve murmured, Bucky’s head on his shoulder.

               “Yeah?”

               “Be my guy?”

               Bucky gave a rather unladylike snort, his snickers shaking his body in a way that made Steve’s head spin more than dancing ever could.

               “What?” Steve challenged, vulnerable.

               “Rogers, I’m wearing a ball gown and makeup.”

               “ _So?”_

               “ _So_ ,” Bucky continued pointedly, “If you’ll take me as your guy _now_ , then that means you’re gonna be in for a bit of a shock when I take all this off.”

               “Buck, I’ve seen you unshaven, covered in grit after weeks without a shower; if you think being attracted to raw masculinity is a new concept for me, you’re mistaken.”

               Bucky pulled back to look at him with smokey eyes, “You mean even back…”

               Steve nodded, watching their feet, “But it wasn’t exactly allowed then, was it?”

               They danced in silence for a while, swaying to whatever overpriced orchestra Trump had hired.

               “I gotta know, Buck,” Steve continued, “Was it the same for you, too? Back then.”

               Bucky’s crooked grin put every bleached Hollywood smile in the room to shame.

               “America was always great.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bringin liberal Steve back because lately I've been surrounded by awful bigoted people and I can't take it anymore. :) This was written on lost sleep because of said people. :) Anyway this needed to be done once I had the idea. I felt it was my civic duty.
> 
> ...
> 
> NOW IF YOU CAN VOTE GO OUT AND F U C K I N G JUST VOTE FOR HILLARY SO TRUMP DOESN'T BECOME PRESIDENT PLEASE IT'S BETTER TO SLEEP SOMEPLACE SHIFTY THAN IN A BUILDING THAT'S LITERALLY ON FIRE IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT PLEASE I'M JUST A YOUNG COLLEGE STUDENT THAT'S AFRAID WHAT'LL BE WAITING FOR ME AFTER FOUR YEARS OF COLLEGE.
> 
> Aight. I'd apologize for the political agenda behind this but. I mean. Steve Rogers was CREATED for a political agenda so. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
